Charles Todd - An Impartial Witness

"He's got a knife-" I exclaimed, and then saw that it was in the hand pinned high against the wall, a long, wicked blade that wavered, then flew from open fingers as the intruder cried out. He was spun around as the knife slid across the floor, and the two struggling men went thudding into the outer door. I could just see the knife, and I dashed forward to pick it up, then moved out of the way. Just as I did, the sound of a fist hitting hard and landing squarely sent one of the combatants staggering back to collapse at the foot of the stairs, almost colliding with my bare feet.

The fight had been all the more deadly for being so silent, and not knowing who had won, I slid along the wall, groping for the entry light switch.

Simon Brandon turned swiftly toward me, blinking in the brightness of the light. I reached out to touch him, needing to be sure he was all right-there was blood on his cheekbone, just under his right eye. He said, "You should have stayed in your room. I wouldn't have let him reach you."

He put a hand on my shoulder-a comradely gesture I'd seen many times among soldiers-and then his fingers gripped hard before releasing me.

He gave his attention to the man who had fallen on his face by the stairs. After a moment, he turned him over with one foot, wary of a trick, and I knew as I saw his profile that it was Jack Melton. I looked at the vicious knife in my hand and shivered.

"He came to kill me."

Simon, his voice brusque, said, "He had to. You asked too many questions. You might have overturned-"

Mrs. Hennessey was opening her door, her hair in a long gray plait down her back and a cast-iron frying pan in one hand, shouting, "I'll have the police on the lot of you for breaking into my house-" And then her voice quavered to a stop.

She saw me standing there barefoot and in my nightgown, that wicked knife still gripped tightly in my hand, and then her gaze moved on to Simon, breathing hard by the door and examining bruised knuckles. I couldn't think when I'd seen him so angry. She stopped at the sight of Jack Melton, still slumped where he'd fallen, showing no signs of regaining his senses.

"It's all right, Mrs. Hennessey," I said quickly, trying to reassure her. "That man by the stairs broke into my flat. Simon stopped him before he could do any harm."

"Men aren't allowed upstairs," she said primly, and I felt a rising bubble of nervous laughter-the reaction to what had just happened-and I quickly suppressed it.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Hennessey," I began. "I didn't want him there, I assure you. He's killed at least one person, and injured another rather badly. If you'll hand me a coat or something, I'll see if I can find a constable."

"You'll do no such thing," she told me. "Go upstairs at once and dress, you can't be seen down here like that. I'll find the constable."

At a look from Simon, I did as I was told. It didn't bother me going up those dark stairs to dress, knowing that Simon was there by the outer door and Jack Melton was beyond harming anyone for the moment. But I wondered how I was going to feel later, when the dark at the top of the stairs, once friendly and safe, loomed ahead of me and I couldn't see what was in the shadows.

I dressed in record time, still buttoning my sleeves as I hurried down the steps again.

Simon had found some rope somewhere, probably from Mrs. Hennessey's flat, and had tied Jack Melton's wrists. He was busy now with the man's ankles, and none too gently.

I said to Simon after a glance at Jack Melton, "What were you doing upstairs? You know it's not permitted."

"I told you, I didn't like the idea of your staying in London. I left the motorcar round the corner and came back. Mrs. Hennessey was nowhere to be seen. So I waited in that dark corner you yourself were going to use. But we won't tell her that, if you please. I was down here in the entry."

Jack Melton was just beginning to stir, shaking his head to clear it, then coming to the conclusion that his hands were bound. He tried to stand up, saw his ankles were tied as well, and slumped back against the stairs. Raising his head, he glared at me. I was reminded then of his brother, any charm erased by cold anger.

"You were in my way at every turn," he said through clenched teeth. I thought his jaw must ache-I hoped it did. Simon had hit him very hard.

The outer door opened, and Mrs. Hennessey was back with Constable Vernon, a burly man with a square face and large hands. I'd seen him often on the street, and he'd nodded in passing. He came into the hall now and looked to Simon for an explanation.

Simon introduced himself, pointed to me, and said, "This man tried to kill the young woman you see there. The knife he was carrying is there on the table. Mrs. Hennessey can swear that Sister Crawford is one of her lodgers. And I'm here in place of her father, Colonel Crawford, who is presently in Somerset."

"That's true," Mrs. Hennessey said, nodding. "I know her family."

"If you'll go upstairs to my flat, you'll see how he broke in. I was lucky to escape." I shivered in spite of myself. "Inspector Herbert at Scotland Yard knows this man," I ended, pointing to Jack Melton. "He'll confirm everything we've said."

The constable nodded. "You can be sure we'll notify him."

No one had said anything about Michael Hart. But I was beginning to think we could at least hope. I felt almost giddy with relief.

After inspecting both locks, the constable took Jack Melton into custody, and the rest of us accompanied him to the nearest station where I told a sergeant my story, supported by Mrs. Hennessey and Simon. I realized that Mrs. Hennessey was the one they listened to most intently, their impartial witness. Little did they know.

Jack Melton said nothing, his head down, his shoulders stiff with suppressed anger, refusing to give his name.

Simon quietly supplied it, trying to keep me in the background. Then he added, "I suggest you send for Inspector Herbert at Scotland Yard. He may have an interest in this man."

"That will take some time," the sergeant on night duty said, looking from Jack Melton back to Simon. He was a middle-aged man, face lined and hair graying.

"It doesn't matter," Simon answered him. "Just see to Mr. Melton, and we'll be happy to wait."

The sergeant turned to me. "Were you harmed, Miss? You say he came into your flat. Did he hurt you?"

"The flat was dark. I didn't even know who was there-a man, a woman-but I saw the flash of what I thought was a knife. And so I ran, slamming the door while he was in one of the other bedrooms looking for me. He followed me but I was hidden, and I threw my hairbrush down the stairs so he'd think I'd gone that way."

"Why did you believe you'd seen a knife?'

"I was afraid, I was alone in the flat, Mrs. Hennessey was on the ground floor, asleep. And I happened to know Helen Calder, who had nearly died from stab wounds after she was attacked. I didn't want to be a victim too."

He considered me for a moment. Then he summoned a constable and gave him quiet instructions. The man left, and we sat there on the hard wooden benches, waiting. There was a large-faced clock high on the wall. I watched the hands creep through the minutes, and then an hour. Simon got up and paced, Mrs. Hennessey nodded where she was, her head sinking to her chest, her breathing heavy. I tried to keep myself from yawning, partly from reaction, and partly from sheer fatigue. Another hour passed, and I realized as I gazed across the room to where Jack Melton sat on one of the benches along the far wall that his anger had faded, and he was busy thinking, a harshness in his face that made me look away.

He must have followed Michael Hart's case. He must have known who Inspector Herbert was. He must have realized that he was in an almost untenable position. But he was a very intelligent man, and he was slowly coming to the conclusion that he would be able to talk his way out of this.